


More Than a Panel of Glass

by SaltyRice



Category: Magic Kaito
Genre: Established Relationship, Heartbreak, Identity Reveal, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-08-08 00:43:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7736434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaltyRice/pseuds/SaltyRice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It’s only the two of them. Alone in the world, the panel of glass is the single barricade between them. It’s closed, a firm lock latching the stretch of glass between them."</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Than a Panel of Glass

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written as a KaiAo story on fanfiction, I’ve edited it since then.  
> The he/him pronouns that are italicized are describing Shinichi, while the pronouns that aren’t are describing Kaito. I just thought it’d be an easier read if I found a way to distinguish the two characters.

          It’s only the two of them. Alone in the world, the panel of glass is the single barricade between them. It’s closed, a firm lock latching the stretch of glass between them. They look at each other from both sides, not a full foot between each other. Kaito’s palm rests on the glass from the outside and the air around him is so utterly cold that a pale film of white coldness forms a silhouette around his hand. His other hand rests on the doorknob, his undoubtedly freezing fingers curled around the metal handle. It stings harshly but he’s not willing to let go.

Of _him_.

          He desperately wants _him_ to open door and give _him_ the warmth his body is hopelessly in need of.

          _He_ almost hopes that he would pick the lock and force the door open and give him the warmth that his soul is hopelessly in need of.

          Because they both know the boy outside has the capability to. Kaito, if he wanted, could easily break through the fragile barricade that Kudou Shinichi had built between them. But he doesn’t, hoping, praying to a God he never believed in that the teenage detective would deduce that sheltering his love from outside the bitter cold would be the best choice. The only choice. But Kaito knows that Shinichi knows, that letting him inside isn’t an option after _he_ found him trying on his school uniform with a piercing white monocle resting on his right eye. Shinichi, the ever so levelheaded and clever and beautiful boy that Kaito couldn’t help but be attracted to, refuses to open the door for him. And so he stands out on the balcony with the swirling wind, standing only a foot away from _him_ , and separated by the thin glass and years of heartbreaking lies that drowns one and buries the other. Shinichi’s voice is lodged in _his_ throat. _He’s_ waiting for him to tell him that it’s a misunderstanding. _He_ needs him to convince _him_ that the stupid white cape that’s mercilessly being pulled by the wind isn’t Kaitou Kid’s. God, _he_ needs him to let him know that this is just part of a twisted joke. Another prank. But Kuroba Kaito does no such thing and Shinichi finds _himself_ to have the inklings of a strange hate beginning to brew inside of _him_ towards the one person in the world _he_ thought _he_ could trust. It scares _him_.

          He’s caught on the wrong side. “Shinichi, open the door,” he says calmly, his voice lacking the confident tone in his voice that he never seemed to be without, his voice lacking the tone that Shinichi had taken to be a wonderful absolute. It’s too cold to be outside dressed in the light weight, formal attire. _He_ can see that he’s shivering at a distressing pace.

           _He_ shakes _his_ head slowly. “I’m sorry Kaito,” _he_ whispers softly, _his_ voice dangerously close to cracking. “Not this time. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. God damn it, I’m so so sorry Kaito.” The boy has nothing to apologize for though. He’s doing the right thing really, keeping the conman, thief, liar, away from him. _He_ takes a step back, increasing the distance between them, refusing to look back at the man _he_ loved ever so much. (Man _he_ still loves?) “Not this time Kaito.” It hurts _him_ , seeing Kaito’s eyes widen ever so slightly. It almost breaks _him_ to see him on the brink of breaking, knowing _he_ was the one to break the impossibly strong teen with resilience larger than his realities. Kaito was always flawlessly confident, never to be seen without a bold smile and a quick word. Kaito can’t be in front of him. It can’t be him. It’s not. This boy, standing on the balcony of Kudou Shinichi’s house with a mangled apology and a shattered poker face; without the self-assurance that fueled the magician’s prideful soul, it can’t possibly be him.

          When _he_ comes to _his_ senses, Shinichi finds _himself_ shivering. And although _his_ room is perfectly heated, almost overly warm, _he’s_ wrapping his arms around _himself_ , attempting to bring back feeble amounts of warmth that had been stolen from _his_ freezing body. Whatever _he_ tells _himself_ , the mortifying truth that doesn’t take a detective to comprehend, still stands out in front of the glass door with a pitiful look, face half hidden by a silken top hat and a scratched monocle.

          _He_ finds himself biting his tongue to keep from saying unwanted words. Words that _he’s_ forbid himself to say no matter how sweet they’ll sound. _He_ can taste the metallic flavor _he_ knows only blood has to offer. It hurts. But it doesn’t hurt enough.

          “Goodbye Kaito,” _he_ says finally with bated breath. Shinichi briefly places _his_ hand on the opposite side of where Kaito’s lays. Only for a moment. Neither of them can feel the comforting warmth they know the other can offer and it hurts to know how physically close they are in their abyssal distance. Gently, _he_ takes _his_ hand off of the cold window and pulls down the blinds. _He_ disappears. A magic trick.

          “Shin-chan, Shinichi, open the door right now. Let me explain,” Kaito yells in a panicked fashion but his voice is carried off by the greedy wind. In frustration he kicks the glass and maybe, just maybe, he heard the man he would give up anything for, give a small, defeated cry. “Open the door,” he tries again. “I’m so sorry Shin-chan. God, I’m so so sorry. Open the door for me. Shinichi, Shinichi.” It’s almost rhythmic, soothing, the constant pounding on the door that Kaito produces.

          Shinichi’s moved from the window to save _himself_ from hearing the breathy little gasps of air that Kaito gives off that stirs something inside _him_. _He_ wraps himself up in the thick covers of the bed, covering _his_ mouth with _his_ hand; only then does _he_ realize what _he’s_ lost. Kudou Shinichi was never a weak person, but _he_ was always weak for the ever so elusive Kuroba Kaito. There’s hot tears running down _his_ cheeks before _he_ can stop it from happening. Gasping and choking and sobbing, _he_ cries. It comes easier than it should, the tears paying homage to what he knew for a long time but refused to acknowledge.

         Kaito finally stops kicking the door and Shinichi offers to cry a little louder to replace the hollow silence. “He’s gone,” _he_ whispers, aloud to make it sure it sinks in that he isn’t dreaming. Kaito is gone. He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone. _He_ repeats it to _himself_. _He_ wants to confide in _his_ best friend. _He_ wants to envelope _himself_ in the arms of the teen _he_ had fallen in love with. It’s not a possibility anymore, _he_ knows that, but god, _he_ wants him so bad.

          On the other side of the glass, Kaito still stands outside. He stays despite the bitter cold biting into his entity and sanity.

Listening.

          Wanting nothing more than to comfort, but stuck on the wrong side of the glass.


End file.
